First impressions

18 July 2022, Ankara

The flight QR 313 from Doha to Ankara landed on Esenboğa Airport  before noon on a mild summer day. 

I loved this airport. It has a non pretentious, specious and functionally oriented modern architecture. Yet this time, after 3 years of Covid break, something was amiss. 

Inside the terminal it wasn’t crowded. I noticed lights were dimmed and the air was thick. I assume this may be a cost cutting measure amid the most recent economic crisis. 

I had an arduous 20 hours trip from Australia. I had acute sciatic pain and stomach pain that deprived me from sleeping, nor I could occupy my mind with other forms of distractions. 

When the plane landed I was exhausted, and I felt an immediate need to visit toilets. 

Fortunately the passport queue ran off quickly, the new passport image recognition software worked and the hunt for toilets could begin. 

After dragging along suitcases and bags along endless corridors for what felt like eternity, from a distance I recognised the most welcoming icon after McDonald’s, the featureless man and woman, the universal symbol of toilets. 

Inside, there were two closed cubicles, both of which were occupied. I was lucky, there was one man in front of me, and a long queue was forming rapidly behind me. The waiting felt like ages, and in my mind I have began to go through dire what-if scenarios, none being remotely dignifying. 

Oh the sweet sound of the toilet cubicle lock. A man was out, there was barely any smell, a clean toilet at last. 

I emerged as a new man from the toilet. You know the feeling; you could do anything, discover an exoplanet, climb the Everest or swim the Atlantic. 

As I took the escalators to the baggage collection area, I noticed I had visited the only toilet between the airplane and the baggage carousel, a terrifying realisation in hindsight.  

Once I collected my luggage, I was surprised to find a check point on the way out. For decades you could leave the terminal without your luggage checked. 

There was no queue lanes, hence the passengers formed a funnel shaped hive, its outlet reaching a security checkpoint. 

What stroke me was the grim facial expressions of custom officers. The country’s official inflation rate is now 78%. You can read the economic hardship from groceries price tags and sad faces. 

The custom officers were acting strangely though. Despite their sad outlook, they weren’t hostile nor they were picking on luggage as they normally should. They were indifferent as if they took part in a passive strike, or participated a silent protest. 

I took my luggage, got out to fresh air and headed to a taxi.